


Denouement

by kamextoise



Series: Music and Manuscripts [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 15,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamextoise/pseuds/kamextoise
Summary: Kimbley survives his encounter with Scar in Liore, at a cost.





	1. Chapter 1

The basement Archer has Kimbley in right now is dark, and dank. He knows it’s not what Kimbley prefers—he’s made that perfectly clear, in multiple ways. 

Really, the man should be _grateful._ He’s a State Alchemist again, and though Kimbley hasn’t exactly talked his ear off about the promotion, Archer knows this is what he wanted.

It’s just safekeeping, for the moment. To keep him from murdering a cadet. Again. Kimbley can whine all he wants, because Archer isn’t budging. And because Kimbley knows the situation isn’t permanent, probably. This is just until the mission is over—until Scar is either captured or dead, and they can return home to Central. Then, presumably there will be a greater opportunity for war. A landgrab, maybe, an opportunity for Archer to make a real name for himself in the history books.

Even as ambitious as he is, Archer knows this is something that will need to be taken one step at a time. Too much, too soon? It wouldn’t do at all. It’s best to take this cautiously. If he’s successful in capturing—or killing— Scar, he’ll be rewarded. As will the alchemist under his command.

Speaking of whom, Archer has a present for the man. A gift from Tucker; refined red stones, fashioned into a gem on a ring. It’ll be subtle enough to making an unassuming weapon. “I have a gift for you,” Archer says to Kimbley, smirking.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, but first, I need to fix up your uniform. Your boots aren’t tied correctly.” Archer stoops down, much to Kimbley’s annoyance. He hears Kimbley mutter something about the boots being _fine_ , how he hasn’t tripped, so it doesn’t matter. Archer gets halfway through fixing the knot in one of the boots before he gives up, offering up the small box from his pocket to keep Kimbley silent.

The alchemist whistles. “And it’s not even my birthday! You really _are_ good to me.”

Archer rolls his eyes and ignores him.

Kimbley opens the box up, and peers down at Archer, Archer himself only glancing up for a moment, still trying to fix the knot on Kimbley’s boot. He’s probably pleased, Archer thinks. It’s been a long time since Kimbley last had a Philosopher’s Stone of his own, even if it is an incomplete one. He’s expecting a thank you, maybe a request to test it out. Preferably on one of the freaky things Tucker keeps in the cages.

He’s certainly not expecting Kimbley to be, well, Kimbley.

“Is this some kind of _engagement ring?_ ” Kimbley enunciates each syllable carefully, his tone somewhere between serious and amused. It’s an incredibly infuriating sound. 

“ _What?_ ” Archer stands immediately, his face flushed and shocked.

“You heard me. Is this some attempt at asking me to marry you, because your timing could use some work.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back,” Archer says darkly, holding out his hand.

Kimbley laughs, pulling his hands away before Archer can make a grab for the little box, taking the ring out and examining it closely. “No way. Do you know how long it’s been since I last had one of these?” He gives Archer a sly look. “Though, you know. Back then, they gave it to me on a necklace.” 

Archer’s face burns. “Yes, well,” he begins, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If it bothers you so much, I can have that corrected for you. After your mission.” Kimbley snickers in response, and slides the ring on, examining it carefully. On his left hand, Archer notices, wondering if Kimbley is still mocking him. It fits, and Archer can see it in his eyes that Kimbley is about to make yet another sarcastic comment. He doesn’t so much as open his mouth before Archer sighs exasperatedly. “Oh, don’t start, Kimbley.”

Kimbley stares for a moment before he starts laughing again.

Archer groans, rubbing at his temples. “You’ll be back before morning, won’t you?”

The alchemist nods. “Yeah, of course. It’s an easy job,” he says, abruptly stopping his laughter. How he can switch gears so easily? Like many things about Kimbley, it’s infuriating. 

“I seem to recall you saying that about keeping a low profile.”

“How was I supposed to know that reptile was going to track me down?”

Archer lets out another groan. “Never mind. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Of course.” Kimbley flashes a disarming smile, uncharacteristically so. “I’m heading into the city now, right? It’s gotta be dark enough, by now.” It’s a prompting for more information—Archer knows Kimbley isn’t the best judge of time. Not without a watch. Which, Archer notices, glancing at Kimbley’s hip, he’s not wearing.

“Close enough,” Archer says, motioning for Kimbley to move closer so he can fix up the man’s uniform. He’ll never wear it properly, but the least Archer can do is make it look halfway decent, even if the man is going to insist on rolling his sleeves up. He fusses with Kimbley’s uniform for a good five minutes before stepping back. “Good. You look presentable now.”

“Are you going to kiss me goodbye, too?”

“Shut up, Kimbley.”

It occurs to him, suddenly, that perhaps doing this within earshot of someone else isn’t so wise. It would probably bother him more if it wasn’t Shou Tucker. As it is, the Sewing Life Alchemist can do very little harm to either of their reputations.

Kimbley smirks at Archer, stretching out his arms. “I’ll be leaving, then. You sure you’re not going to give me a kiss for good luck?”

He sighs. “Get going, Kimbley.”

The alchemist’s smile broadens, sauntering over to the cages, yanking a couple of the doors open to gather up the chimeras he’ll be taking with him. “I’ll be back before sunrise,” he says, and then he’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, the sun is already starting to peek through from behind the town. Archer doesn’t know what to make of it, except for a dread that’s starting to well up from the pit of his stomach. Why hasn’t Kimbley returned yet? Liore isn’t that large of a city, and it was a simple enough job. Find Fullmetal’s corpse, bring it back. It shouldn’t be that difficult of an assignment, not for Kimbley. It shouldn’t have taken him this long.

They shouldn’t need to be waiting here, with seven thousand men, for something to happen.

The soldiers around him are starting to talk amongst themselves, but Archer isn’t paying them any mind right now. Where the hell is Kimbley? Maybe he’s in worse shape than Archer thought. Ten years alone in a cell, with only a handful of months to put on weight? Even if he is back in the military, Kimbley is in rough shape. Archer remembers, once, hearing something about how rapidly losing weight can damage a body. How a person isn’t likely to ever be as fit as they once were. Even if his body is toned now, Kimbley is still prone to exhaustion. Archer has seen him doubled over wheezing more than once after exercising when he thinks no one else is watching.

He should have sent Kimbley in with bodyguards that weren’t disastrous chimeras created by Tucker.

But now it’s too late for thoughts like that. His hands are shaking, and his left eye is twitching, and a cadet has noticed, wandering over with a concerned, “Sir?” that he’s quick to dismiss, waving it away. Red rays of sunrise are starting to shine down on the city, and that’s when a lone figure moves into view, hobbling noticeably, propped up against something, before it collapses into the sand. Archer barely hesitates, snatching binoculars out of the hands of the nearest soldier, and it only takes a moment of peering into the viewfinder to realize it’s Kimbley lying in the sand, and that he hasn’t moved from the spot where he fell.

“I need a medical team _now._ ” 

Archer doesn’t even wait for a response, he’s already rushing towards the prone Crimson Alchemist. When he reaches the other man, he collapses to his knees, reaching down to press a hand to the side of Kimbley’s throat, searching for a pulse. He lets out a loud, anxious breath when he finds one, and tries to shake Kimbley awake. “Kimbley. Kimbley, wake up.”

It takes a long moment for the alchemist to stir, but Archer is grateful when he does. His eyes crack open, and he coughs, not even bothering to attempt to stand. “Archer,” he says distantly, and he moves, left-handed to grip at Archer’s hand. Kimbley is covered in blood, and he’s fallen at a strange angle, like he had been dragging himself through the city. Like maybe he can’t feel his legs. Looking at the extent of Kimbley’s injuries, how had he managed to get back to the entrance of the city in the first place?

“I’m here,” Archer says. He’s not able to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “We’re going to take you back to base. Get you proper medical attention.” Kimbley makes a shaky noise, and doesn’t response. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if Kimbley is bleeding a fatal amount or not. There’s a lot of blood soaking into the sand, and he yanks off the skirt on his own uniform to try to use it to stop the bleeding. Kimbley doesn’t speak, barely acknowledging anything that’s happening. He watches Archer for a long moment before he makes another shaky noise and closes his eyes.

It’s lucky the medical team arrive when they do, because Archer doesn’t know how to respond. They rush Kimbley away on a gurney, and Archer finds himself thankful it isn’t a body-bag. 

“I’ll be at your side as soon as I can,” he thinks to himself, as he orders a group of men to join him in sweeping the city.


	3. Chapter 3

Two hours of emergency surgery and several of waiting later, Kimbley is hooked up to an IV and covered in bandages. They’ll need to take him to the hospital at East Headquarters, the doctor told him, but Archer wasn’t really paying close attention to the man. He’d said something about how the damage to Kimbley’s spine likely means he’ll never walk again, how it’s a miracle his internal organs didn’t rupture, and how he doesn’t have a goddamn clue how any of it happened. 

It’s too much right now and his nerves are completely shot. _You said he walked out of the city? He must have done it through sheer force of will._

It’s also a miracle that in the confusion, Roy Mustang didn’t have Archer arrested when he arrived with his allies, unharmed naturally, to see the base in absolute chaos. Fullmetal nowhere to be found, Liore completely disserted, and Kimbley still unconscious after his surgery. He gave Archer a wary, reproachful look. The sort of look that probably means Archer’ll have a favor to owe at some point, though he doesn’t understand why, if that’s Mustang’s intention.

When Kimbley wakes, he does so with a groan, and he doesn’t try to sit up. Archer isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. He’s been by Kimbley’s side for a few hours now, and to say he’s been worried is an understatement. Golden eyes fall on Archer questioningly, though Kimbley doesn’t say anything. The fan overhead wobbles noisily, and Archer makes a mental note to himself to tell the next nurse he sees to fix it.

“How long have I been out?” he asks finally, staring at Archer for a very long moment before he makes a pained noise and settles into the bed, head resting up against the pillow.

“About half a day. You were seriously injured.”

Kimbley’s quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands, at the IV in the soft of his elbow. “I don’t feel so bad, right now,” he says quietly. He doesn’t have the usual swagger in his voice, and Archer takes that to mean he’s a lot more shaken than he wants to let on. There’s a bruise around Kimbley’s right eye, and Archer wonders if he fell more than once as he tried to leave Liore. Or if he was in some kind of fight.

The latter sounds more likely than not.

He may as well ask, because if Kimbley has any say in it, he’ll probably choose not to talk about it. “What happened back there.”

Kimbley shrugs, taking a moment to respond. “Scar,” he says simply. It probably should have been an obvious answer, given the injuries Kimbley sustained, but Archer had been too concerned that Kimbley might die on him to give it much thought past the initial shock. He’s still worried that the Crimson Alchemist is one panic attack away from reopening his wounds. Or that he might suddenly realize he can’t feel anything below his waist and start to hyperventilate. “What?” Kimbley’s staring now, most likely at Archer’s own staring.

Archer looks away. He’s not sure if he should be the one to tell Kimbley. There’s no way he’s realized, or he wouldn’t be acting so calm right now. The drugs they have him on right now must be potent. “Nothing,” he says. He shifts in the chair next to the bed, moving so he’s positioned stiffly next to it. “I’m… glad you’re alive.”

Kimbley makes a noise that’s either pleased or annoyed. Archer isn’t sure which.

“How did Scar do it?” and, after a pause, “What did he do?”

The alchemist is silent for a very long time, to the point where Archer wonders if he’s fallen back asleep, before he responds suddenly. “I blew up the wrong arm.” He says it so suddenly, and so deadpan, Archer isn’t sure if he’s joking or not.

_“What?”_

“His arm. You know, his right arm. It’s got a freaky array on it. I’m pretty sure I blew it off him, during Ishbal. Dunno how the hell he grew it back.” His tone has an edge to it, one that says _don’t bother correcting me, I know that’s impossible._ Archer remains silent. “I thought it’d be funny to blow off his left arm this time. You know, symmetry. He charged at me, and I…” He falls silent, shaking his head. Kimbley’s eyes wander, staring at the IV drip.

“You…?” Archer prompts.

“He… did something to me. I think I dodged the worst of it, but… I don’t remember things too well, after he struck me. I think I brought a building down to distract him?” Archer stares, unsurprised. He’s more surprised that Kimbley’s continuing to recount the entire situation deadpan, and without cracking some sort of inappropriate joke. “He must have fucked me up good, because I couldn’t really feel my legs. I dragged myself out of the city with some piece of support beam or something like that, I don’t remember it too clearly. Then you found me.” His story ends, and Kimbley settles into the bed, looking drowsy. “How long do you think I’ll be here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ll tell me when you find out, right?”

“Of course.”

Kimbley makes a noncommittal noise, his expression flattening. “I hope it’s not too long.” He turns, staring at the curtains covering the window. Archer has an idea of what he’s thinking—Kimbley’s fears always root back to the dark, one way or another. To prison. 

Archer follows his gaze carefully. “Do you want the curtains open?”

“Yeah.”

He stands, pulling the curtains open. There isn’t much of a view; the base is located a ways away from anything else. All there is to see are a few more buildings dotted here and there, and a lot of desert off in the distance. Kimbley turns his head towards the window, staring out of it. Archer pulls it open, allowing the scent of hot sand and summer to waft into the small room. Above them, the fan still wobbles, but neither of them are paying attention to it now.


	4. Chapter 4

When Kimbley finds out about the true extent of his injuries a few days later, Archer is out of the room. But he can hear the man screaming and hurling obscenities at the hospital staff. Archer rushes in as quickly as he can, and is met with a glass thrown at him that he has to block with his forearm. It’s lucky, because the glass explodes into dust and smoke upon impact, and Archer hisses under his breath at the dark stain on the sleeve of his uniform. That’s going to be a pain to get out.

“You fucking bastard. You _knew_ , you knew and you didn’t tell me!”

The alchemist doesn’t handle Archer’s presence well; if anything, he gets worse than he was with the doctors. He attempts to pull himself out of the bed with such force that Archer rushes to Kimbley’s side to push him back down before the younger man can hurt himself. 

Hurt himself worse than he’s already been injured.

Kimbley doesn’t calm, not until Archer pulls him into a one-armed embrace, and even then, he only quietens. He’s shaking, and even as well as Archer knows him, he doesn’t know if It’s in fear, anger, grief, or a combination of all three. He rests his chin on Kimbley’s head, and the smaller man stills. He’s silent for a long moment before speaking. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Kimbley’s voice doesn’t have the confident edge to it that it normally possesses. Archer runs a hand through Kimbley’s hair, grateful the door to the hospital room is currently closed.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Archer says, earning a scoff from Kimbley. 

“You’re not the one with fucking useless legs!”

He wraps his other arm around Kimbley, eyeing the door for a long moment before deciding he doesn’t really care if anyone walks in. He’ll explain away the situation somehow. Kimbley starts to complain about something—being held, maybe. Archer keeping the extent of his injuries hidden from him. Something like that. Archer hushes him, and for some reason, for some strange reason, it gets Kimbley to settle down.

Archer pulls out of the embrace eventually, sitting back down on the chair opposite the bed. Kimbley’s still silent, seemingly okay with the quiet for the moment. It probably won’t be for very long, but at the moment, Archer is simply grateful that Kimbley has stopped shouting. 

Kimbley is fidgeting with something in is hand, and it takes Archer a moment to recognize what it is.

“…is that the Stone ring I gave you?”

“Huh?” Kimbley looks up, stopping his fidgeting abruptly. The Stone is gone; whatever happened to it, Archer doesn’t know, and doesn’t think it appropriate to ask. After a moment of staring, he takes Kimbley’s hand, gently, and stares at the ring. The setting is gone too; all that’s left is a scarred band. It’s a shame. The ring had been rather pretty.

“I guess it is,” Kimbley says dully. He stops fidgeting, staring at his palms instead, at the hand being held by Archer.

“Why are you still wearing it?”

“Because I forgot I had it on. Why the hell does it matter?” He yanks his hand out of Archer’s grasp, moving to stare above Archer’s shoulder out the window. They’re both silent for a long time, Archer feeling awkward.

Kimbley had teased him mercilessly about the ring, but maybe it meant more to Kimbley than he let on. Archer is fine with the idea; they both have their secrets, their personal thoughts that they don’t want the other to know much about. It’s not out of fear or dislike, or anything like that. It’s a respect of privacy. But maybe Kimbley really just needs the assurance right now. Using humor to deflect how he’s really feeling doesn’t sound too odd of a thing for him to do, no matter the circumstance. And doing it right before a mission as serious as the one Kimbley had been sent on… well.

It’s just… awkward. Archer doesn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. Not now.

“Stay here for a while, will you? I know you. You’ll make up some bullshit excuse about paperwork to leave.”

_It’s not bullshit, Kimbley. How many times do I have to tell you that? I’m the head of Courts-Martial Investigation. I can’t just put off paperwork._

“Of course,” Archer says. “I’ll stay with you for today.”

It’s possible he thinks he’s bullied Archer into this— instead of Archer deliberately clearing out his schedule to spend time with his alchemist— because Kimbley’s smile is one of satisfaction.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s another month before Kimbley can leave the hospital and return to Central. There’s a wheelchair in the trunk of Archer’s car, folded gently. It’s not the sort Archer wants Kimbley to have long-term; it’s cheap-looking, and he doesn’t think it’s very comfortable looking, either. It’s certainly not fit for the Crimson Alchemist. But it’ll do, until Archer can buy him an expensive one. Kimbley is mostly silent on the way home, though eventually he starts talking about how happy he’ll be to sleep in his own bed instead of the uncomfortable hospital one.

It’s certainly been a long time since they’ve been home. Archer can’t blame him.

They arrive home without incident—though Archer is half expecting something to go disastrously wrong. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happens. Kimbley seems to be in decent spirits, all things considered. Archer hadn’t been so certain he’d ever see Kimbley look like himself again.

Then again, Kimbley has always been good at hiding what’s on his mind. It’s entirely possible he’s not in as great of shape as he pretends. 

He’s seemingly adjusting okay, even so. He has a book on alchemy in his lap, and occasionally he jots down notes in the strange code of his. Archer peers over his shoulder for a minute, Kimbley ignoring him, though Archer knows he knows he’s watching. “What are you doing?”

“Taking notes. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be allowed on the front lines, right? So I need something to occupy my time.” His tone is sullen, like he expects Archer to shut him down. Archer does no such thing, still staring down at the little book. He knows a little about alchemy; he can’t use it himself, he’s never had the talent for it. But he at least understands some of the simpler theories.

“I’m not going to insist you stay cooped up inside. We both know that’s impossible,” Archer says mildly. “Besides, the pardon still stands. There’s no reason for you to be hidden now.” He means it, too, no matter if Kimbley believes him or not. He can see a thin smile forming on Kimbley’s lips. It’s subtle, but good enough for Archer.

Archer had deliberately requested that Kimbley not be discharged from the military. Even without the use of his legs, he’s still a soldier. Maybe Archer can have him assigned to one of the more action-oriented sections of Investigation. Violent crimes in Central fall under the military’s jurisdiction, and there’s no doubt in his mind that Kimbley would get a kick out of chasing down a serial murderer while looking entirely unassuming. 

He’ll consider it, once Kimbley has healed a little more, and gotten used to the chair. And has received one more appropriate for him to use.

“Sounds good,” Kimbley says conversationally. “As long as I’m not getting saddled with paperwork.” 

“Since when have you ever wanted anything to do with paperwork?”

The alchemist laughs. “I’d be pretty pissed off, if you made me do all the paperwork.” He closes the book, still smirking. “Did you give up on hiding your collection of alchemy books and put them in the library like a normal person, or are they still hidden away behind that false panel?”

Archer flushes immediately, tensing. “I set them in the library so that you can reach them without assistance.” 

“Excellent. I’ll have to find them, in that case.”

Archer hesitates for a moment before laying a hand on Kimbley’s shoulder. “If you… need anything… I want you to tell me, all right? There’s no need for you to carry this burden by yourself.” Kimbley turns to look at him, his expression calculating and guarded. He doesn’t respond.


	6. Chapter 6

Close to eleven, Archer finds Kimbley staring at the stairway to the second floor. He has the chair deliberately position in front of it, so Archer can’t step around Kimbley to walk up the stairs. “Is there something wrong?” he asks, gently. There’s no sense in riling the other man up, not after they’ve just returned home. It’s been an enormously stressful few weeks, and Archer doesn’t know if either of them will ever feel normal again.

Well. At the very least, he doesn’t know when they’ll adjust to this new normal.

“Oh, nothing,” Kimbley says, and his voice is bitter instead of joking. “I was just thinking about how to walk a goddamn chair up the stairs.”

Archer sighs. “You could ask me for help, you know.”

“And why the fuck would I do that?” Kimbley spins around angrily, but falters when he sees that Archer looks a little hurt. Archer doesn’t say anything, just stares at the other man. If Kimbley doesn’t want to go up the stairs, that’s fine. He can sleep on the couch, and Archer will take one of the chairs in the sitting room. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than Kimbley being angry at something he can’t do. It won’t do long term, but for tonight? If should be fine.

“Okay,” Kimbley says eventually, sighing. Looking resigned, like he’d rather be doing anything but this. “Can you help me up the stairs. Please.” He maneuvers out of the way, and looks away, his face slightly red.

Archer stoops down. He can do this. It’s not a big deal, and he’s glad Kimbley is asking him for help instead of stewing in anger. “Grab my shoulder. Like that.” It takes a while, but eventually Archer has Kimbley propped up against his chest, one arm looped around Kimbley’s shoulders, and the other under his knees. Kimbley’s face is red, but he doesn’t complain as Archer carries him up the stairs, and mutters a thank you to him when Archer helps him sit up on the bed. He returns a few minutes later with the chair, moving it so it’s close to Kimbley’s side of the bed.

Kimbley reaches out to touch it, as though to confirm it’s easily within reach. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

Getting ready for bed is something of a production, but Kimbley doesn’t complain too much, considering. Whining that Archer isn’t doing something correctly is certainly preferable to Kimbley getting angry and throwing something at his head again. Kimbley settles into the bed, breathing out audibly with what is clearly relief. “It’s kinda nice. Being in my own bed for a change.” He stretches his arms out as Archer watches him, faintly amused.

“The hospital bed was that uncomfortable, hm?"

Archer rolls over so he’s close to Kimbley, wrapping arms around the other man protectively. Tangling their legs together won’t be as enjoyable now, but Kimbley presses his back into Archer’s chest and that’s nearly as good. They’re both quiet for a long while, neither of them falling asleep. Just the two of them listening to the other’s breathing. “What kind of work am I gonna do now?” Kimbley asks eventually.

“I can’t say I’ve thought much about it,” Archer says, but all that really means is that he hasn’t plotted it out perfectly yet. Kimbley makes an annoyed noise, but he doesn’t pull out of the embrace. “When was the last time you handled a gun?” the question is odd enough he isn’t certain if Kimbley will even answer him. He’s pleasantly surprised when the man does.

“Haven’t needed to touch one since basic. I’m sure I could pick it up again, it’s just been a long time.”

“I’ll take you to the shooting range this weekend. We’ll get you back up to skill in no time.” Kimbley lets out a groan, but it’s the typical annoyed sort of noise he makes around Archer; Archer takes it to mean he’s pleased, even if Kimbley doesn’t actually say so.

Kimbley’s quiet for a long while, and Archer is about to fall asleep, before he speaks again without warning. “How am I supposed to get around the house? It’s kind of you to offer, but I don’t want to be carried up the stairs every night.”

Archer is silent for a long moment, mostly because he needs to wake himself up a little before answering. “I will see if I can have the house modified in some way. If not, we can relocate to a house with one floor.”

Kimbley twists his head around, staring at Archer in the dark. “…You’d really do that? Doesn’t this place mean a lot to you?”

“This house has been in my family for a long time, but it doesn’t mean much to me, no.”

Kimbley leans up against Archer at that. It’s hard to tell if Kimbley believes him or not, but it doesn’t matter right now. Archer loosens the embrace somewhat, but he doesn’t pull out of the hug. No, this is too comfortable right now. There’ll be plenty more to worry about tomorrow, but for now, this is the most relaxed Archer has been in well over a month. He’ll sleep well tonight.


	7. Chapter 7

When Archer gets a knock on the door to his office a few weeks later, he isn’t sure who to expect. Kimbley never knocks, though he takes a little longer to enter the room now. As it is, there’s no way the visitor today is Kimbley. “Come in,” he says without looking up from the papers currently on his desk. He doesn’t know who he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not Mustang, who steps inside and quickly closes the door behind him.

“Archer,” he says, unable to completely mask the dislike from his voice. “I need a word with you.”

Archer makes a deliberate show of slowly setting his pen down and neatly organizing the papers before he gives Mustang his attention. Mustang doesn’t look amused in the least. “What can I do for you, Colonel Mustang?”

“I want to know who gave Kimbley the order to sneak into Liore.”

“I’m not sure why you want to know; it doesn’t exactly matter. But if you really must know, the Führer himself was the one to give the order.”

“Is that so?” Mustang strides over to Archer’s desk, picking up the topmost paper—a report on the activity of a potential serial killer near Central Headquarters. He examines it for a long time, long enough that Archer quirks a brow at him. “And what, exactly, were his orders?” He sets the paper down neatly.

“He was to scout the area before troops moved in.”

Mustang’s eyes narrow. Loath as Archer is to admit it, Roy Mustang is no idiot. Lying to him is probably not the smartest of things to do, but like hell is Archer going to tell him what Kimbley’s real mission was. “I… see,” he says delicately.

“Will that be all? I have a lot of work to do today, Colonel, and I can’t afford continued interruptions.”

“That was all I wanted to know,” Mustang says stiffly, still watching Archer warily, as though he might do something at any moment. He turns towards the door, twisting the knob to open it, before he looks back at Archer. “Don’t you think seven thousand troops was overkill for one man? It makes a person wonder if there’s something else going on, behind the scenes.” And then he’s gone.

Archer’s hand hovers over the receiver, with half a mind to contact the Führer’s secretary before he decides better of it. If Mustang is going to accuse Bradley of something, he’s staying out of it.


	8. Chapter 8

At the shooting range that evening, Archer spends an entire clip firing at a target. He only hits it center mass once, and curses when the trigger clicks empty.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Kimbley asks, sliding the earmuffs off his ears, but he sounds amused more than anything else. Like he’s not bothered by Archer’s outburst. Which, to be fair, he probably isn’t. He’s gotten a little bit of his spirit back since the accident; it took him only five days of spending the evening at the shooting range for him to get used to his new vantage point, and Archer learned first-hand that despite Kimbley’s forte in hand-to-hand combat, he’s a hell of a shot.

“Nothing,” Archer says, and reloads his gun.

“If you say so,” Kimbley says. He replaces the earmuffs on his head and hits center mass in only two shots.

At some point, Archer might have to admit to himself that spending time here has become something of a date for the two of them. He won’t admit it—he’ll deny it if asked. But he likes the way Kimbley smiles when he gets a good shot in. It’s not a look he ever thought he’d see again, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing it on Kimbley’s face again. It might not be the most traditional of places to go, but as much of a traditionalist as Archer is, this? This is nice.

It’s a hobby both of them share, and he’s pleased he found out about Kimbley’s like of guns. “Why did you never carry a gun during the Ishbal suppression, if you were this good?” Archer asks eventually, after they’ve stopped firing, and new targets need to be put up. 

“There wasn’t any need,” Kimbley says, shrugging. “I can kill people with my hands. Why use a gun? I was given one—everyone was, even the other State Alchemists. But I didn’t ever want to bother with using one. That was for the guys in my unit who didn’t know how the hell to use alchemy.”

“But you’re so _good_ at it.”

“Well, yeah. You can’t pass basic without knowing how to use a gun.”

Archer snorts. “I should have expected that answer.”

Kimbley smirks. “Just because I’m a little rusty doesn’t mean I don’t remember, you know. I’m still a soldier.” He doesn’t sound offended. “Besides, it looks like something’s pissed you off pretty good today, for you to be such a lousy shot.” Archer flushes and doesn’t respond. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Kimbley’s smirk broadens. 

“Are we done for today, then?” Archer asks, starting to clean up his spot at the range, moving to start to organize things for Kimbley without thinking about it. It has nothing to do with his condition, it’s just habit. Kimbley seems to know this, because he doesn’t complain. He shoves Archer out of the way to finish the work himself, but doesn’t look troubled.

“We’re getting dinner, yeah?” Kimbley asks cheerfully. He’s more relaxed than usual, probably because he’s been able to do something destructive again, even if a gun isn’t the same thing as his alchemy. 

“Dinner? Where do you want to go?”

Kimbley hums. “You know, anywhere is good. I’m not picky.” 

It’s not exactly the most helpful of responses, but it’s exactly the sort of response Archer should have expected. Kimbley hasn’t been picky about where or what he eats for as long as Archer has known him. True, they haven’t known each other long—it’s still under a year, but it does mean that Kimbley is one of the easiest people to please Archer has ever met. “In that case, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner is nice. The restaurant Archer takes Kimbley to is on the expensive side, but not so expensive as to be expected to dress up for the occasion. The two of them are in uniform, anyway. Kimbley flashes a charming smile as he speaks, telling Archer about alchemy—like he thinks Archer can learn. He’s flattered Kimbley thinks he has the capacity for it, because he’s attempted for years with no luck.

“It’s easy. I’ll come up with some formula for you to try out—maybe have you fix up a busted teacup.”

“You are _not_ breaking a teacup.”

Kimbley smirks. “If you say so. Really, you need to stop being so serious all the time.”

“You say it like it’s so easy,” Archer mutters.

When the waitress comes by, she seems flustered by the two of them. Kimbley talks to her like he wasn’t in prison for a decade for war crimes, and she appears entirely clueless about his past. For the best, Archer figures. Otherwise there would be too many questions asked, and it would spoil a perfectly good evening. Archer orders a meal with too many instructions—it makes Kimbley laugh, and apologize to the waitress with an irritatingly suave smile before he orders something he probably picked off the menu at random.

When she’s gone, Archer hisses under his breath. “Do you have to flirt with every woman who pays you the least bit of attention?”

The smile on Kimbley’s lips is wicked. “What, you jealous?” he asks.

Archer grumbles under his breath, and doesn’t respond.

Their conversation turns towards work after a while, with Kimbley complaining about the paperwork, and asking if there’s anything exciting that actually happens in the department. Archer sighs, and tells him that while Courts-Martial Investigation _does_ look into violent crimes, the police do still need to do a fair amount of the legwork. There’s a suspected serial killer in the area, though there isn’t much of a profile on him yet. When the police have more information to go on, the military will be able to move in. They continue the discussion about work when their food arrives, and then the waitress brings them a dessert “on the house”, that flusters Archer and amuses Kimbley. 

All-in-all, it’s not a bad night. Even if Kimbley does spend the entire drive home asking Archer if he thinks the waitress thought they were on a date. As far as Archer’s concerned, she had better _not_ suspect anything, but then Kimbley points out that she brought them a slice of cake to share, and Archer has to fall silent before he starts fuming.


	10. Chapter 10

They return home later than Archer had intended. Kimbley looks tired, but he spends a while in the library anyway, reading a book from the shelf. 

It was expensive, and took quite a while, but Archer had the stairs refashioned with a ramp. It might not work out long-term—it still involves going up and down the stairs, but there are grooves in the ramp that make it safe for Kimbley to use it, and Archer can still use the stairs normally. At any rate, Kimbley hasn’t complained about the ramp, and he’s never been shy about voicing his opinion, even in situations where Archer wished he would keep silent. But the situation as it is now does mean that they can live in the manor without Kimbley getting angry at Archer for needing to ask for help every night. 

They’re already in bed, both with books open before Archer turns to look at Kimbley, delicately closing the book he has on the history of North City to speak to his alchemist. He’s already faintly pink when he decides to say something. “I’ve been reading some _documentation_ ,” Archer says, looking embarrassed and slightly humiliated. His tone makes it sound like he’s read something illicit, but all he really means is he’s been reading up on medical files.

Kimbley laughs at that, and Archer turns a darker shade of red than usual. 

“I’m _serious._ ”

“When are you not?” 

Archer coughs into his hand with a pointed look. “In any case, I want to try something. If you’re willing.”

Kimbley studies him for a long while, Archer considering telling him to forget it, before he speaks. “You _could_ come right out and say you want to fuck, you know.” He _had_ to be blunt about it. Archer doesn’t think his face could get redder if Kimbley decided to suddenly throw paint at him. “Oh, I get it, you want me to come right out and say I’m interested.” Kimbley leans in, resting his head up against Archer’s shoulder. Archer doesn’t pull away, but he’s seriously tempted to. This isn’t what he expected, it’s so… _embarrassing._ “I want to show me exactly what you’ve been researching.”

It takes about twenty minutes to prepare everything, but once they’re ready, Archer has Kimbley position himself so he’s sitting on the bed between Archer’s legs, propped up against his chest. He eyes Archer, leaning his head against the other man’s shoulder, looking faintly amused, and excited. “This is a little unorthodox,” he says, but he’s smirking. 

“I didn’t know how else to do this,” Archer mutters, flustered. 

Kimbley laughs quietly. “Show me, then,” he murmurs. Archer brushes his thumb against the side of Kimbley’s chin trailing it gently down the younger man’s throat. Kimbley’s eyes fall closed. He continues to trail soft touches for a while, watching for any sort of reaction. Kimbley has never been especially loud, but he’s still vocal about what he likes, and the soft noises he makes are enough incentive for Archer to continue. He moves to grip at Kimbley with his other hand, right above his naval.

Kimbley grumbles, mutters something that sounds like “hurry up,” but Archer keeps it at the slow pace, just wanting to see how Kimbley reacts to the touches, flittering down his chest. He’s nearly ready to continue when Kimbley mutters something under his breath, and Archer pauses.

“What?” he’s not certain if Kimbley’s actually said anything, or if it was just a murmur under his breath. It’s a long moment before the other man speaks.

“I don’t know how you can love something like _this_ ,” Kimbley hisses, motioning one-handed at himself.

Archer freezes. He’s never heard Kimbley use the word before. _He’s_ never used the word before. He doesn’t know why, really. Because it’s awkward. Because he doesn’t think it needs to be said. Because it’s an unspoken truism between the two of them; something that doesn’t need to be said because both already know it. “Why the hell are you _doing_ this? I don’t get it! Are you pitying me? Are you mocking me?”

It’s enough to get Archer to sit up, and cup Kimbley’s chin with one hand.

“Kimbley,” Archer says, willing the other man to look at him. “Kimbley. You live with me in my house. We share a bed. Last winter, you raided my closet to find something to wear over your clothes to sleep in because you thought the house was too cold. I’ve restructured the house so you can move throughout it without my assistance. Of _course_ I care about you.” 

He thought it was obvious. He thought Kimbley knew. Archer doesn’t like people, he doesn’t bother to get close. Kimbley has been an exception more than once. Here he is— with a man he cares about more than anyone else in the world nude in his lap; head tipped back on his shoulder, one hand clasped on Kimbley’s side where he can feel the touch, a man who is terrified that Archer doesn’t find him attractive anymore.

It’s the most bizarre situation he’s ever been in in his entire life.

“Yeah?” Kimbley’s gaze is challenging, aggressive.

“What’s gotten into you?” He’s not sure if he should be concerned or not.

Kimbley lets out an annoyed groan. “Just forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it _does._ ” Archer doesn’t normally use his authoritative voice, not in private moments between the two of them. But this is different. This isn’t like Kimbley, and he doesn’t like it. All things considered, the night had been going well. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. This is a waste of time.”

Archer sighs, helping Kimbley lie down, positioning himself so he’s laying beside Kimbley. “I’m sorry if you’ve been bored lately. I know you’re not suited to a desk job. I’ll see what I can do for you, but until then, I want you to trust me.”

They’re both silent for a long while. Kimbley looks faintly awkward now, and he rolls over so he can wrap his arms around Archer. “I really killed the mood, didn’t I?”

“A little bit,” Archer murmurs, but he’s not angry, exactly. Just frustrated. He reaches for Kimbley’s wrist, taking his hand carefully. “You’re still wearing the ring,” he says quietly. Kimbley jerks his hand away and stays quiet. “It means that much to you, huh.” Kimbley doesn’t respond, but Archer pulls him close, running his hand through Kimbley’s hair.

“It would. Be nice to say you hear it,” the alchemist murmurs into Archer’s chest.

“’It?’”

Kimbley gives him another one of his guarded looks.

Archer sighs again. “I do love you, you know,” he says, petting Kimbley’s hair. He’s never said it before, but there’s no hesitation in his voice when he speaks. Honestly, he can’t say he understands why Kimbley needs the assurance _now_ , when it’s been well over a month since the accident, when he had just been teasing Archer about going on a date earlier tonight. But then Kimbley gives him one of the most relaxed smiles he’s ever seen, and Archer is fine with it. If Kimbley needs it, he’ll do it. 

That, he knows for certain.


	11. Chapter 11

The following day, it’s like Kimbley’s awkward moment of insecurity didn’t happen. They’re both content to ignore it, and besides, there’s plenty of work to be done at the office. Kimbley barges in unannounced as usual around noon, and the first thing out of his mouth is, “I’m hungry.”

“Good day to you too, Kimbley,” Archer says, smirking. He knows why Kimbley is in here; it’s the same reason as always. Kimbley moves up close, resting his elbows on Archer’s desk. Archer raises a brow, but doesn’t tell Kimbley to move. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“You could help me by joining me for lunch instead of staying in here and working all day.”

Archer sets the paper he had been reading over down at that. “You know I have plenty of work to do, Kimbley. There’s still paperwork that needs to be filled out after the situation in Liore.” Kimbley makes a face, and Archer quickly amends his words. “Seven thousand men is a lot to be accounted for, and considering hardly any of them were sent in to the city itself, well… there are plenty of questions to be answered. I don’t have many of the answers myself, but I still need to fill this out.”

Kimbley picks up one of the papers Archer has already filled out. “Fullmetal’s still AWOL?”

“Yes. No one has seen nor heard anything from him since the night you were sent in to look for him.” He peers at Kimbley, a reminder for him not to say anything. “Desertion is a serious crime; I can’t imagine he would stick around any place where he would likely be found.” He flips through the other pages carefully. “There’s also been more information on the serial killer. He’s foolish enough to attack close to Central Headquarters. The latest attack was on a woman who managed to get away. She was severely injured, but she’s been in stable condition. We’ll be paying her a visit in the next few days, after she’s had time to recover.”

Kimbley’s silent for a moment, looking like he’s considering his words carefully. “I don’t see how any of that is stopping us from getting lunch.”

“I have work to finish. Shouldn’t you be doing the same, hmm?”

The alchemist frowns, and instead of answering he picks up the paper Archer had been looking over. It’s nothing interesting, just a requisitions form. It’s dated from before the mission to Liore, and truthfully, it’s just in the pile of papers for Archer to have something to do. He’s already memorized the information on it for the continued reports he’s had to write on the situation.

“Seems like I made a real mess of things,” Kimbley say darkly, setting the paper down. Archer automatically stacks it with the rest, glancing at Kimbley for only a moment.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Kimbley shrugs, still looking faintly bothered. “Did the other Elric kid ever turn up, the one who’s a suit of armor?”

“No, why?”

Kimbley shrugs again. “I was curious. He was hanging around Scar the last time I saw him. Tried to stop the two of us from attacking each other.”

 _”What?”_ Archer stands, staring at the alchemist with alarm, slamming his hands down on the desk. “Why am I just hearing about this _now?_ ”

The alchemist gives an exaggerated gesture with his hands. “I don’t know. Something about being bedridden and fucking paralyzed made me have other things on my mind beside where the hell an empty suit of armor wandered off to.” He’s not happy now, and considering he entered Archer’s office in the first place to bug him about lunch, it’s best to drop this now. Smooth it over, maybe give Mustang a call about this. Assuming he doesn’t already know—he seems a little _too_ able to predict where Fullmetal is at any given moment, but Archer _did_ promise himself to stay the hell out of the situation.

His blackmailing of Bradley already hadn’t gone well. The last thing he needs is Kimbley being used as leverage against him. It would work only too well, and he’s beginning to think that Mustang had a point. Even if Archer wants nothing to do with the situation going on in the military now—best to keep his head low, and Kimbley on task with this killer, rather than bothering either of the ranking members of Investigation with how deep the conspiracy in the military goes.

Thinking too much about it might very well get both of them killed. 

Kimbley still looks vaguely annoyed, but Archer raises a hand in apology. “Never mind. Let’s go get lunch and worry about this later.” And just like that, the annoyance on Kimbley’s face melts away.


	12. Chapter 12

That evening after the pair finish work, Archer has the rest of the night already planned out. He can tell Kimbley is aware of this, because he shoots Archer an annoyed look from the passenger seat on the ride home, but Kimbley doesn’t actually say anything, for once. Kimbley should really be a little more trusting, but considering everything that has happened in the last month and a half, Archer can’t exactly blame him. He even attempts to cook dinner for a change—something that makes Kimbley crack a joke, the first real one Archer’s heard since the accident; _What, are you gonna propose tonight or something?_ Archer ignores him, like always. It’s not like the joke bothers him, he’s just never been the best at handling teasing. Especially the sort Kimbley usually gives him. 

Archer isn’t much of a cook, but Kimbley isn’t a picky eater. It works out well for both of them. “You’ve always told me you’re a lousy cook, but this pasta is pretty damn good. Have you been holding out on me?” Kimbley says, after eating only a little of tonight’s dinner.

“It was my mother’s recipe,” Archer mutters, his face pink. 

Kimbley smirks, says something about her having good taste, and the rest of the meal somehow manages to avoid being as awkward as Archer feels.

Afterwards, Archer asks Kimbley to come in to the foyer. He has a gift waiting for him there, next to the grand piano. Kimbley whistles when he sees it—a very expensive looking wheelchair, one that is partially controlled by a motor. It’s fast, comfortable, and of course, custom-made. “Shit, this is…” he reaches out for it, running his hand against one of the arm rests curiously. “Do you power the motor with _alchemy?_ ” He spends several minutes looking it over, murmuring to himself various praises before he looks over at Archer. “I don’t know what to say,” he says, before he has to look away, his face a deep shade of red.

“It’ll certainly be easier to use on the job than your current one, won’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess it will,” Kimbley says quietly.

“We do have a killer to find, after all. I figured you could do with a new toy to make things easier to track him down,” Archer says, smirking.

Kimbley looks up at that. “You’re putting me in charge of that?”

“Not exactly. We’re equal rank—it’s not like I’m technically your _boss_ right now. But I figured you would need to be able to keep up with someone in the event we need to chase him down, hm? It’ll probably be more difficult for you to get your hands on someone running from both us and the police, but I can get you equipped with a nice gun of your own. You should be carrying one, anyway.” He has this planned out completely. That’s just how Archer operates; he’s not going to allow something like Liore to happen again. If he has to over-plan this time to prevent something disastrous from happening, he will.

At some point, Kimbley must have stopped paying attention, because he’s seated in the chair, fiddling with the controls on the armrest with great interest, muttering to himself. “So does this thing alter the speed? –shit!” the chair jerks suddenly forward, and Kimbley immediately grabs onto one of the wheels in alarm.

Archer sighs. “Try not to break anything in the house,” he says, but there’s no bite to the comment.

Kimbley smirks. “This control stick here can make the chair go faster than I can move it myself, huh? It’s a pain—I would have liked to be able to go faster just by pushing the wheels, just with an added speed boost. Guess that’s not really possible.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Well. I guess it’ll keep a hand free when I’m in a hurry. I’ll still do things the old-fashioned way, I think. This is going to take some getting used to.” He runs a hand against the arm rest, looking pleased. “You really didn’t need to do this, you know. I was getting around just fine in the other one.” Kimbley falls silent, looking embarrassed.

“Are you happy with it?” There’s just enough uncertainty in Archer’s voice that Kimbley looks up.

“Yeah, I…” the alchemist runs a hand up against the controls, watching it, his expression hard to read. He doesn’t look displeased, just like he’s not sure what to think. “You’re good to me. You’re gonna start making me look bad, buying all of these things for me when I haven’t done the same for you.” He doesn’t sound like he means it, but then again, Kimbley has done a number of surprising things lately. Archer approaches him, and Kimbley reaches up, pulling the older man into an embrace. It’s awkward, but plenty of things between the two of them are. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be happy with whatever you decide to give me. You know that.”

“You should be careful, saying things like that. You might regret it,” Kimbley laughs. He grabs Archer by the collar, and pulls him into a sudden kiss that startles him so badly it takes Archer a moment to process what just happened. A moment later, he’s got a hand in Kimbley’s hair and is kissing the man just as roughly as Kimbley is him. When Kimbley pulls away so they both can catch their breath, he nips at Archer’s lower lip and says, “There. How’s that for a thank you?”

Archer lets out a breathless laugh. “I supposed I’d be in trouble if I said it was anything less than ‘acceptable’, wouldn’t I?”

Kimbley shakes his head, punching Archer lightly in the arm.


	13. Chapter 13

About a year ago, if Archer had been told Zolf J. Kimbley would become the most important person in his life, he wouldn’t have believed it. He would have recognized the name—of course he would have, everyone who was in the military at the time remembers the crimes Kimbley committed. At some point, someone might try to pull Archer aside and point out to him that Kimbley murdered his commanding officer, and that even if they are the same rank, Kimbley is still Kimbley and that means he handles orders he doesn’t like incredibly poorly.

There are advantages to siding with Kimbley. The man is a living, breathing weapon, and he never practices things such as _restraint._ It means when you need the job done, Kimbley is exactly the sort of person you want on your side. But it also means he’s dangerous, unpredictable.

It’s not like Archer has ever been concerned about Kimbley hurting him. It’s just not something that’s crossed his mind. Oh, he’s worried about Kimbley hurting other people, and rightfully so. But himself? Archer has never thought of himself as a target Kimbley would go after. It’s a blind spot, but he’s never found Kimbley anything but trustworthy. 

Certainly, the power the man possessed was alluring, even when Archer had first recruited him. He hadn’t expected their relationship to bloom into something completely different from Archer and his secret weapon. If he had it to do over again, he wouldn’t change anything. Besides, of course, ensuring that Kimbley didn’t end up so severely injured. Even if he’s starting to act more like himself, Archer can’t imagine what the alchemist is going through.

But their relationship, this… Archer doesn’t even know what to call it. It’s deep, that’s all that he can say for certain. He has no reason to deny that the feelings are love, even if it does seem strange. It’s not something he’s felt before, but now? He knows he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

…No. He doesn’t want to think about it too much. If he had lost Kimbley, he doesn’t know what he’d do. It had been bad enough, wondering if Kimbley would wake up from surgery at all.

He’s been lying in bed long enough after the alarm goes off that Kimbley laughs quietly, tapping him on the back of his shoulder. “Never thought I’d be the one getting you up,” he murmurs. “When are we going to meet that victim, again?”

“Tomorrow. She’s recovering nicely, but we’re giving her another day. The police have taken down her information, naturally. But if we’re going to organize with the police, both groups of us need to know everything we can, if we’re to take this killer down.”

“Good morning to you, too!” Kimbley laughs. “I guess that answers question number two, ‘do you think of anything besides work in the morning?’” 

Archer grumbles, and sits up. “Are you going to nag me for breakfast now?” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his tone. His hair is a mess, and he’s fairly certain he slept on his arm in a strange way, because it’s sore in a way it usually isn’t. He’s not certain there’s enough time to shower before they need to leave.

“No. I figured I’d offer. I’m pretty bad at cooking, but I could cook us some eggs, maybe.” Kimbley’s never offered to cook before—he’s refrained in the past, saying he’s no good with a stove. It probably means something—most likely that Kimbley was being honest when he said he wanted to give something to Archer.

“If you’re certain.” Archer’s not about to turn down something like this.

Archer hadn’t been worried, exactly, but he didn’t know how long it’d been since Kimbley last cooked—though he could hazard a guess. Still, he’s pleasantly surprised when breakfast is perfectly edible—and he tells Kimbley he’d be happy to eat breakfast like this again sometime. It makes Kimbley happy, and if Kimbley’s that happy just from having his cooking complimented, Archer will have to encourage Kimbley to try again. He’s used to seeing Kimbley make pleased expressions like that only when his alchemy is being complimented, and that—well, as much as Archer enjoys the demonstrations of power, Kimbley will have a harder time using it now.

It’s outrageously domestic of the two of them, but then again, it’s not like either man could bring himself to leave the military. These small moments of quiet between them are just that—not a sign that they’re getting _soft_ , or unwilling to focus on something ambitious. Archer couldn’t stand it, and he’s certain Kimbley couldn’t, either.

If Archer were a superstitious man, he’d insist on making sure that nothing awful was going to happen on the way to work. But as it is, the thought never crosses his mind. He cleans up a little too thoroughly as always, with Kimbley saying something about him being a neat-freak, and Archer shrugging it off as usual.

“If all the excitement’s going to happen tomorrow, you owe me a night at the shooting range today, you know,” Kimbley drawls once they’re in the car.

“We’re just taking information. We’re not going to be out hunting bad guys, Kimbley.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” But by Kimbley’s smirk, Archer’s a little concerned that Kimbley is going to be itching for a fight the moment tomorrow’s questioning is over with.


	14. Chapter 14

Questioning yields plenty of results. The woman, in bad enough shape that she won’t be leaving the hospital any time soon, was able to get a good look at her attacker. He’s an odd-looking man, with a scarred face and a missing left ear. With a description like that, it’s a wonder why no one has encountered him sooner and lived to talk about it. The woman takes a long look at Kimbley before asking how a member of the Amestrian military got injured so badly. Kimbley looks torn between being angry and insulted, and Archer is quick to say that Kimbley was injured in the line of duty.

It's not a lie, and the end result is both the woman and Kimbley looking satisfied with the answer.

“You think her description is enough to find the guy?” Kimbley asks once they’ve left.

“He’d stand out, wouldn’t he? But I suppose there is some good news; a man with injuries like that is probably from the underworld. He more than likely isn’t trying to blend in with everyday society.” Finding him is easier said than done, even so. They might have a general description of him and the area, but old warehouses near Central Headquarters aren’t exactly hard to come by. And not far outside would be the older, poorer areas of the city. Archer’s even heard the occasional rumor about tunnels under certain parts of the city, though he’s never exactly had the desire to go looking for them himself.

“So we’re looking for someone who stands out, but who’s probably smart enough to know he’s fucked up, huh?”

“It’s certainly possible.”

“The area the guy seems to operate in is pretty small. You said the bodies have all been found in locations where it appears they were killed, right?”

“That’s correct.”

Kimbley looks thoughtful, and leans a hand against the armrest of his chair thoughtfully. “Well, that means he probably doesn’t have a car or some other way to transport and dump the bodies. If it looks like they’ve died where they’re found, the guy is either sloppy, or he doesn’t expect it to get traced back to him for some reason. Or maybe he doesn’t care.” He taps at his chin. “Hey, can you guys tell how long it’s been since a person died?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Archer says thoughtfully. “That’s for the police to determine.”

Kimbley frowns. “What kind of warehouse was the last body found in, again?”

Archer signs, gives Kimbley a _you just read the report this morning_ look, and runs a hand through his hair. “I believe it was used to store spare parts for the trains that come through here. However, I don’t think it’s been used in at least twenty years. The building should be torn down before it collapses.” It’s not like serial killers are the most predictable of people; really, they’ve been lucky they have someone who is so active, and in such a short period of time. It’s also fortunate the man didn’t get a chance to finish the job the last time, because it’s the first real lead the case has had.

“Do we even know for certain the guy who attacked this chick is the man we’re after?”

_”Kimbley!”_

“I’m just sayin’.” He even somehow manages to look a little annoyed, as though he expected Archer to agree with him.

“It’s a lead. If it’s not a good one, we’ll find out soon enough. Until then, we’ll be acting as though the witness is credible.” Kimbley’s not the sort to always think about things like this, Archer accepted that shortly after recruiting the man. But that doesn’t mean that Archer wants to just accept the fact that Kimbley doesn’t want to take this seriously. “Even if he isn’t the man we’re looking for, if nothing else, it’ll get a dangerous man off the streets.”

The Crimson Alchemist doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. “How the hell are we going to track him down, exactly? Hope he has an arrest record?”

“Something like that. That’s not our problem, thankfully.”

At least Kimbley seems fine with that, because Archer was a little afraid he’d crack a joke about how the military relies on policework, and how boring he finds the job.

“So it’s a matter of just waiting around, huh?” Kimbley asks. He’s frowning now, but he seems more thoughtful than agitated. “They’ve got a description of the guy, but in order to do anything, they’ll need a name, won’t they? With a look like what he’s got, I doubt it’ll be hard tracking him down, if he’s got a record.”

Archer’s impressed. He must look especially pleased with Kimbley’s thought process, because the alchemist looks smug when he continues. “Once we’ve got a name for him, he’s finished. Hell, people like him probably work under codenames or nicknames, so it’s possible a hell of a lot more crimes might be attributed to him once we figure out who he is.”

“Yes, that’s what expect will happen. It’ll probably be another few days, assuming an identity can be found at all. I am not a superstitious man, but I will be hoping we’ll be fortunate enough not to have to examine a body instead of interview a witness.” 

Kimbley has gone from smug to displeased, but Archer doesn’t mind. He’s done well today, and since Kimbley did as for another trip to the shooting range… It _is_ their special place.


	15. Chapter 15

An arrest warrant is not an easy thing to obtain; even if the killer—potential killer, has plenty of points against him, things still need to be done “by the book”, and Archer will always be one to follow the law to the letter, except for the rare instances where it suits him otherwise. Unfortunately, this is not one of those situations. Receiving the paperwork still falls under police jurisdiction, which means the chief deputy in charge of the investigation needs to go before a judge.

But eventually, the warrant is exactly what they receive, thanks in large part to the detective-work that gives them a name for the man. So now, they wait. They know the general location he frequents, and they know now he isn’t the sort of person to do legal work—though given the locations of the crimes, that could have already been inferred. They also know he is almost certainly protected by a gang, though to make things a bit more complicated than Archer prefers, the group doesn’t seem to have a real name for itself. 

“I’m sure you’ve all read the report,” Archer says. He catches Kimbley rolling his eyes, but doesn’t call the man out. “But just to reiterate, we are to arrest the man. He’s our current lead; killing him is to be avoided at all costs.” He stares right at the alchemist when he speaks, before turning towards the assembled group. A couple representatives from the police, there to handle the actual arrest, and two officers from Courts-Martial Investigation. “You’re certain he was spotted in the area this evening?”

“Yes, sir. He was spotted no more than thirty minutes ago. We have reason to believe he’s still in the area.”

If they can really find him so quickly, things might appear to be going _too_ well. Despite himself, Archer crosses his fingers.


	16. Chapter 16

Kimbley knows he shouldn’t wander off too far. Even if he is bored out of his mind, following a suspected serial killer without backup is a stupid idea. The last time he encountered one, he very nearly died. It’s a stupid plan. Archer is going to yell at him. He doesn’t even have a plan. But the bald guy seemed like he got a little spooked by a crowd in the area—military uniforms and police uniforms have got to be enough to spook the average criminal, even one whose underworld contacts probably means he’s of the believe that he’s not in any real danger of being arrested.

Archer might want to do this by the book, but Kimbley knows better. For someone who looks so _distinct_ to try to attack and kill a woman, he must be getting protection somewhere. It’s not like all of Central is a bastion of law and order.

Just because Kimbley is in a wheelchair now doesn’t mean he’s stopped thinking like a soldier. Thinking like someone who spent time in Greed’s gang. If the guy is routinely attacking people in the same area, there are only so many things it could mean. He’s going after rival gang members, he’s just dragging people back to some favored area of his… Kimbley doesn’t have a clue which is the truth, nor does he particularly care. He’s going to find this man, probably fuck with him a little, and then maybe Archer will finally accept that he doesn’t need a goddamn babysitter every minute of the day.

The scarred man is easy enough to follow, and Kimbley’s chair doesn’t make enough noise to be suspicious, even on an older street like this one. He even has an idea of how to handle this.

Really, he’ll be fine.

Or, he would, if he didn’t suddenly realize he’s not sure what street he’s on. He’s not far enough away from Archer for it to be a problem, he doesn’t think. Besides, there’s no way Archer isn’t following him if he’s noticed Kimbley’s gone.

He’s just not expecting to run straight into the man he’s after.

“Hell do you want?” the man asks, staring at him from the alleyway he’s smoking in like Kimbley’s something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. In the scattered street lights, he manages to look especially nasty. Getting his ear hacked off must have hurt like fuck. Kimbley’s only barely able to restrain himself from insulting the man.

“I was wondering if I could bum a cigarette from you. Don’t have any on me,” Kimbley says cheerfully. Like he hasn’t been stalking the guy. Like he doesn’t have a loaded gun at his hip, ready to use it the first opportunity he gets.

“Fuck off, I’m not the sharing type of guy.”

Kimbley makes a _tch_ sound with his tongue, feigning offense. “You’re not even going to offer one to a veteran?”

“Shouldn’t you be pan-handling on a busy street, gimp?” the man asks nastily. 

Kimbley gives a tight smile in response, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You should be careful about what you say, _friend_ ,” he says, and very deliberately shoots the man in the left shoulder. The man swears in pain, automatically moving to try to cover the wound. It’s one of those little things that proves he’s both used to being attacked suddenly, and human enough that being shot without warning is enough to startle the hell out of him.

“You’re _dead._ ” The man takes a step forward, still clutching at his shoulder. If Kimbley were a little smarter, he might be worried. But he has a broad smirk on his face, and he hasn’t bothered to maneuver out of the way.

“There are things so much worse than a gunshot wound,” Kimbley says lowly, and he’s so still, his gaze so fixed and menacing, the man stops in his tracks just as suddenly as he started forward. “See, friend, I’m not stupid. I’m giving the others, say, five minutes at most before they realize I’ve followed you. But, really, five minutes is more than enough time for me.” He motions at the man’s arm, at the strange discoloration that’s beginning to spread from shoulder down to the rest of his limb. 

“What… what the fuck!”

Kimbley does pull back at that, because the man is now watching in utter horror as the flesh of his arm dies like a rapidly acting gangrene. He reaches to grab at the arm, transfixed in horror. Probably because he’s found himself suddenly unable to feel his arm. Probably because it hurts where dead flesh touches living tissue. “What the hell did you _do?_ ”

The alchemist pulls the gun back out at the question, examining it with more interest than he’s shown his handiwork, and the man himself. “Specialized bullets. They only activate upon impact. It took me a long time to perfect the design.” He motions, right-handed, at the arm, which has taken on a greyish hue. “Not like the handiwork I used to do, but I’ve always enjoyed fireworks.”

It feels like minutes, but it’s closer to fifty seconds before the man’s arm _explodes_ , blood and gore spraying outwards, against the alley wall, the ground, onto Kimbley, and the man himself. He screams so loudly, there’s no way the rest of the task force didn’t hear it, and Kimbley laughs. “You’re fucking insane!” 

The sound of the explosion is enough to catch the attention of Archer, two of the department’s underlings, and the police who were with them. Archer gives Kimbley a baleful look before ordering someone to contact an ambulance before they quickly work to stem the bleeding before their number one suspect can die on the cobblestone. 

Somehow, they’re able to get the man safely loaded onto the ambulance before he exsanguinates, though Archer looks a little shaken. He dismisses the police—they need to follow the man back to the hospital anyway—before rounding on Kimbley. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Before Kimbley can even open his mouth to answer, Archer has pulled out a handkerchief and is wiping the blood off his face, muttering about how they’re going to need to have the uniform cleaned immediately.

“It was going to be fine. I’m fine, okay?”

Archer pinches the bridge of his nose. “The next time you see fit to wander off and follow a suspect, let me know.”

The two underlings look at each other, but apparently choose to say nothing.

Kimbley’s jittery now; he’s definitely going to need a shower to calm his nerves. It’s been a long time since he was able to do something like _that_ , even if it’s not nearly as intimate as actually physically getting his hands on the man and making sure he turns into a bomb, all nice and slow.

Archer still looks annoyed, but he’s managed to compose himself. “We’ll be headed back to the office to fill out a few forums, and I’m certain the chief of police will be giving me a phone call shortly.” He turns to the underlings, who snap to attention. “The two of you are dismissed. Be in the office early tomorrow, in the event further questioning is needed.”

“Yes, sir!”

As soon as they’ve left, Archer turns his attention to Kimbley, who feels more alive than he has since the accident. The power in those bullets… well, it’ll never be the same thing as killing someone with his bare hands, but nevertheless it had been exhilarating. 

Archer sighs at Kimbley, looking him up and down like he might snap at any moment. “You’ll need a shower as soon as we get home,” he mutters, rubbing the side of his head, like he’s developing a headache. Kimbley smirks in response, and Archer lets out another exaggerated sigh.


	17. Chapter 17

A long, warm shower after work is exactly what Kimbley needs. He’s still not used to this new way of showering—the seat in the shower for him is comfortable enough, he guesses, it’s just… awkward. As is Archer’s hovering in the bathroom to make sure he doesn’t accidentally hurt himself. Normally it would annoy him a little more than it currently is, but he’s so keyed up from earlier he doesn’t mind the company. Still, it’s not going to stop him from making a crass joke. “Enjoying the show?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” but Archer sounds embarrassed, so he takes that as a yes.

Kimbley makes a cheerful noise, stretching out, starting to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. “If you’re going to stand there all awkwardly, you might as well come in here and join me, huh? It might be fun.” He can’t see Archer’s reaction too well due to the steam covering the glass door, but by the sudden lurch back he does, Kimbley’s convinced that he’s managed to succeed in teasing the man.

What he isn’t expecting, however, is the response that comes a long moment of silence later. “I suppose that could be entertaining.” It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve showered together or anything like that, it’s just a pleasant surprise to hear Archer agree to something even vaguely kinky so easily. Another long moment passes, in which Kimbley can clearly imagine without having to turn to confirm it, that Archer is neatly folding his clothing on the countertop. Archer steps inside the shower a moment later, and closes the door before Kimbley can even open his mouth to complain about him letting the hot air out.

“Satisfied?” Archer asks, smirking.

“Yes,” Kimbley says, and Archer pulls him into a deep kiss.

Kimbley arches into the other man, grinning. “This is making me so fucking horny,” he hisses into Archer’s ear.

“Is it now?” Archer sounds amused. “Shall I carry you to bed?”

Kimbley glares. “Don’t you dare.”

“Do you want help getting into bed, then?”

“Help me finish washing my hair first, goddamn.” Kimbley laughs, and Archer shakes his head. He doesn’t argue, though, and doesn’t say anything else for a while, helping wash the shampoo out of his hair, and Kimbley leans into the touch, pleased.

This doesn’t happen very often, maybe it should happen more.

“You have more hair than I realized,” Archer says quietly, reaching for the soap, which he hands to Kimbley.

Kimbley laughs faintly. He’s honestly not sure how to take that, so he defaults to a joke, like usual. “I’m surprised you’re so eager for a fuck, usually that’s my job.” Behind him, Archer tenses a little, but Kimbley ignores him in favor of washing himself off with the bar of soap, because he knows that at most, Archer’s just embarrassed. 

“I do realize I am a little… bad at this,” Archer says slowly. Kimbley turns to look at him, smirking. “But it’s been a long time, and I’ve wanted to do something for you.”

“What are you trying to apologize for? If my teasing’s gotten you this flustered, it’s working better than it usually does.” Kimbley raises a brow, handing Archer the soap so he can wash off as well. The shower might be on the small side with the two of them using it at the same time, but even now Kimbley finds it comforting rather than claustrophobic. 

It’s strange, and thinking about it might bother him more if he didn’t like the looks Archer gives him so much, even if the man can’t smile properly to save his life. At the moment, Archer looks flustered more than pleased. Kimbley’s expecting him to tell him to shut up, but instead, Archer frowns, taking the bar of soap, refraining from further comment.


	18. Chapter 18

Deciding to try this again is one of those things that’s both awkward and important to Archer. It’s just as important to Kimbley, of course, but Archer feels like he was the one who messed up last time. Talk through it this time, maybe. After their moment in the shower—after everything that’s happened, he wants to believe Kimbley knows their relationship isn’t in jeopardy, but the last thing he wants to do is trip over another issue Kimbley has. 

He doesn’t know if Kimbley still has problems with what’s happened—he imagines so, but it seems as though Kimbley relaxes whenever he’s given evidence that Archer isn’t in any hurry to leave him. He never would, though he doesn’t think Kimbley would believe him if he outright said that. 

Kimbley is stretched out on the bed, watching Archer carefully. He looks vaguely excited, but it could always be nerves. Regardless, he seems eager for this, and Archer would be lying if he said he wasn’t just as enthusiastic.

“What was it you were going to show me the last time we attempted this?” Kimbley’s hair is still damp from the shower, but he looks completely relaxed at the moment, with his hair down and his expression eager. 

Archer flushes. “I… don’t know how to put it in a way that’s erotic,” he mutters.

“Well. It’s you. I wouldn’t expect you to be able to explain anything in a sexy way.” The smirk is infuriating as always. 

Kimbley’s response doesn’t help at all, but Archer continues after a moment of embarrassment. “I read that some sort of sensation tends to return, after an injury such as yours. It can take a few months, however, but I think enough time has passed for you.”

“What kind of sensation? Because I can assure you, if I could feel my legs, I’d be walking on them again.”

“…to the genitals.” Archer braces himself for a fit of laughter from Kimbley, and he’s relieved that it’s just a short bark, because Kimbley laughing at him now would kill the mood, and he doesn’t want a repeat of _that_ sort of situation.

“You’re always so damn clinical!” Kimbley’s face is red, and Archer doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or trying to hold back more laughter.

“Have you noticed anything like that?” Archer prompts, trying to get the discussion back on track.

“I haven’t exactly tried to jack off since my injury. I wouldn’t know.”

Right. This shouldn’t be much of an issue. They’re just both going to do be doing this for the first time, without a damn clue of what they’re doing. But Archer can mask his apprehension, sort of. Act like he has more of an idea about what to do than he actually does. Even if they _are_ the same rank now—curse everything for the rank of Colonel not being a permanent promotion—Kimbley still reacts to Archer as though he’s in charge. As though he relies on some amount of other people telling him what to do.

Archer doesn’t know what to do, himself, how far they should go, but after a moment he says, “I think we should… avoid any penetration until we know more about your situation. How much you can feel. I… don’t want to overdue it.”

Kimbley, stretched out and lazy-looking as he is, doesn’t appear bothered by the suggestion. “What do you want to do, then?”

“I was thinking something… a bit easier. A more manual form of stimulation.”

“You mean you want to give me a handjob,” Kimbley translates helpfully. 

Archer turns away, embarrassed. “…Yes.”

“Sounds all right to me.” The look of anticipation on Kimbley’s face makes Archer swallow, and he nods to himself, earning a smirk from the alchemist.

It takes a while to prepare, but eventually, just like before Kimbley is partially in Archer’s lap, looking amused. He says something about how he’s never done “it” this way, probably baiting Archer into asking him what he means. Kimbley rests his back up against Archer’s chest, looking comfortable. He leans his head against Archer’s, and unlike last time, he flashes Archer a trusting look.

Hopefully that’s a sign this isn’t about to go poorly again.

When Archer begins stroking, it’s a deliberate, careful motion. If Kimbley really can’t feel anything, it’s more important than anything else to make sure he’s gentle. The last thing he wants to do is injure Kimbley in a way that might not even be noticeable at first. “Do you feel anything?”

“I don’t… know? It’s hard to tell.” Kimbley arches his back a little, leans his head against Archer’s. Kimbley’s alternating between squeezing his eyes shut, and watching Archer’s ministrations. He hasn’t been told to _stop_ so Archer continues, pausing only when he hears a faint moan from Kimbley. 

“Feeling something after all?” 

Kimbley makes a soft noise, tipping his head back to glance at Archer. “That’s… fucking convenient,” he mutters. “Yeah, I… I guess so? It’s pretty diminished, but— _ahh_ —it’s… something.” His back arches more, and Archer uses his other hand to steady Kimbley, smirking faintly. Information about this is scarce— some of it even contradictory. But the slight noises he’s making seem to be proof that it’s working, as is the growing erection in Archer’s palm. Even if it’s not much, he’s hopeful it’ll help Kimbley not feel so angry about his situation.

Archer is taking it slow, and Kimbley mutters a complaint telling him to speed up. Despite his misgivings, he does, reaching up to tweak one of Kimbley’s nipples experimentally. The noise Kimbley makes is a loud, startled moan. “H-holy shit!”

“I didn’t realize you were so sensitive,” Archer purrs, rubbing his thumb against Kimbley’s chest.

“Neither did I,” Kimbley mutters, but he sounds more baffled than bothered by it. “Do that again.” Archer obliges, and the sound Kimbley makes is so hot, he moves to the other nipple, smirking when he gets another moan of pleasure from Kimbley.

He’s not sure how long to keep this up; doesn’t know if Kimbley will want to stop suddenly, or if the sensation will have changed enough that this finishes quickly. It’s entirely out of his realm of experience, but he knows Kimbley. The man will be both blunt and vocal if he doesn’t like something Archer is doing.

Archer starts trailing feathery touches with his free hand, watching Kimbley for little signs of pleasure, for his breathing to hitch ever-so-slightly. His touch dips lower, to just above the spot on Kimbley’s stomach he knows where sensation stops. “You’re a damn prude,” Kimbley whines, “when did you get good at this?” Archer laughs, kissing at the side of the other man’s jaw. Kimbley hisses, mutters something about how weird the situation is, and then in the next breath growls, “don’t you dare stop,” so Archer keeps going.

“You’re really enjoying this,” Archer whispers in Kimbley’s ear. “If I knew you loved having your nipples played with this much, I would have done this much sooner.” Kimbley moans quietly in response, and Archer takes the opportunity to nip at the other’s earlobe. 

He speeds up his motions, watching Kimbley carefully. Having the alchemist moaning and writhing in his lap is even hotter than he thought it’d be, and when Kimbley releases with a low moan, whimpering Archer’s name, Archer kisses the side of Kimbley’s face, holding him steady with one hand on his hip.

It takes Kimbley a while to catch his breath, and to be honest, Archer is nearly expecting the man to request a round two. Not that he’d be opposed to it, especially after the reaction he got from such simple things. His own needs can come later, because Kimbley writhing in his lap like that had been a turn-on in a way he hadn’t entirely expected.

But then Kimbley pulls him into a messy kiss, smirking. His face is flushed, and it’s been a long time since Archer has seen so much obvious desire on the other man’s face. “Your turn,” he purrs, and Archer is eager to get started.

Afterwards, the two of them lie in bed, both intensely satisfied. Kimbley has his head on Archer’s chest, and is listening to the man breath, to his heartbeat, eyes half-lidded. “I have to admit, I’m surprised. Didn’t think you’d be the type to be so experimental,” he murmurs, but Archer knows Kimbley is just talking to break the silence. He brushes his thumb up against the short hairs on Kimbley’s head, and doesn’t respond right away. He’s content just to listen to the other speak—whether he’s trying to tease Archer or not, it doesn’t matter, because nothing could spoil this.

“I’d like to think I have my moments,” Archer muses.

He considers nudging Kimbley off of him, because Kimbley looks like he’s about to fall asleep, and Archer isn’t far off from sleep himself. But then Kimbley closes his eyes, and Archer has never seen the other man look so relaxed. Kimbley isn’t wired for deep relaxation; he’s so tense at any moment, ready to snap. But he looks so at peace right now that Archer isn’t certain there will be another moment like this. Not for a long while.

Things are going so well.

Archer wouldn’t spoil this moment for anything.


	19. Chapter 19

It’s a few weeks later when Archer finally decides to ask Kimbley why he’s never removed the broken ring.

“I don’t know,” Kimbley says with a shrug. “I don’t think of it as a sign of marriage or anything like that. I’m not really marriage material.” He fidgets with it for a moment, twisting the ring slightly on his finger as he examines the damaged part of it. “But it’s kind of funny. Sometimes I’ll get approached by someone, right? Trying to flirt. And then she’ll see the ring, not looking too close, and get all flustered and apologize.”

“Is that so?” Archer asks, more amused than irritated. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m gonna tell the truth or anything. I just think it’s hilarious being asked about ‘my lucky lady’ or whatever.”

Archer flushes, giving Kimbley an annoyed look. “You had better not be telling stories about me.”

“What, you worried?”

“When it comes to what you’d tell people? Yes.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know I keep it vague. It’s not like anyone would believe the truth if I said it, anyway.” He moves to rest his head against Archer’s, smirking. “…but I don’t exactly lie, either. I always end up telling them I’m perfectly happy in my current relationship.”

“That’s awfully sentimental of you.”

“Yeah? I’ve never thought of it that way.” Kimbley doesn’t look bothered, if his smirk is anything to go by.

They’re both quiet for a while, Archer not sure what to say, and Kimbley content not to speak. “Still… keeping the ring at all… I didn’t think it matched with the philosophy you’ve told me so much about.” It might not be the right thing to say—Kimbley has never budged before, even when Archer pointed out the problems with Kimbley’s brand of nihilism in the past.

“You saying you want to get a matching ring?” Kimbley retorts.

Archer raises a brow. That deflection was more obvious than usual.

“I… don’t know,” Kimbley says eventually, his voice quiet. He doesn’t sound apologetic, but it’s better than getting defensive. “Aren’t I allowed to be happy I’m alive?”

“Of course you are.”

Kimbley’s quiet for a while longer, staring at his hands. His face is faintly red, and Archer watches him for a long moment before he wraps an arm around Kimbley’s shoulders. “That’s that, then. I’m happy I’m alive. I’m glad I didn’t die in Liore.”

The silence between them doesn’t feel as awkward as it normally does. It’s a contented sort of quiet; something that doesn’t happen often, but even Archer can admit he enjoys it. They don’t exactly have much in the way of free time; these small moments are precious in a way Archer didn’t think of before. Even if Kimbley still complains how his job is boring, Archer figures he’s adjusting about as well as he could. It’s not a perfect solution, but Archer is beginning to accept nothing in life is. “I’m glad, too.” They’re both alive. The world might not be perfect, but who the hell cares? They’ll be just fine.

And really, that’s the only thing that matters.


End file.
